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Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Hiding Behind My Life




there's a tingling at the tips of my fingers, keeping me to the keyboard despite the fading light, laptop screen burning brightly into my bloodshot eyes. i haven't slept right in weeks, but i feel like i've been passed-out for days. rip van winkle and i, living past the present by sleeping through it. and nobody seems to notice, nobody seems to mind. guess that's the luck of living, to get by, and get by, and get by some little bit at a time. do you ever wonder what's enough compared to too much? do you ever wonder what's enough compared to too little? some people's standards remind me of depressing things, like kites stuck in a tree, keys that don't turn the lock, and puppies that don't give picked from the pound.

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some people's version of life is like a personal poverty. so sad, so very sad, but even they and i can see how beautiful it is to be alive. maybe that's why we're all not suicidal. like those fuckers from the bridge. is killing yourself just because you lost sight of that? maybe if someone stopped and shouted out loud, "isn't it great? to be here - right now - with you, andyou andyou, and all this around, upsidedown scenery? isn't it beautiful to be alive?" and those suicidal kids would shake their head, like shuffling off ennui, like cold water after your shower, like the bad thoughts that fill to stiffen your spine, brittle enough to break, breaking... broken. and then you're an emotional cripple for the rest of your life. can't feel if the feeling's dead, right? so don't stay what you are - stay what you want to be.

i'd like to be someone much more better than myself. i'd like to be the men i read about as a kid, tall & proud. they lived the lives i only have in my daydreams amongst bookends or paper tests. or work. mustn't forget the work. there is always the work, working to the bones i never even had to begin with. i'm all jelly. i'm all soft inside, even the barbs by abuse just sink in. you'd never guess what's stuck inside my flesh. i've got wounds like your sister had combs. i've got hurts from when reagan was president. but they're all soft. i was never a hard man, inside or outside or anyside for that matter. maybe i should leave myself out for the night, turn stale, turn tough, turn... hard. think it would work? think i could take all my pliability and watch it solidify into immutability?

i've always been afraid of changing myself, because so much seems to change these days. i want just one thing to remain the same, to remind me of what's happened since those younger days when i played with wood-blocks and G.I. Joe guys. i'm even more afraid of staying the same though, because then what's the point of being grownup if you never growup? guess there wasn't really a point, but i like to think there is. i like to think a lot of things. i like to think blowing kisses to the moon is good luck. i like to think picking pennies up off the street is a smart idea. i like to think of hobos swimming in a wishing well, all those sad people washing themselves in the dreams of everyone else - it's ironic, no?

i like to think that if i keep writing maybe my words will circumvent the earth to reach around and touch me, grab me from behind. could i ever become so long-winded as to make it that far? it seems more than flying on glued-together wings all the way to the moon...




so it goes.

5 footnotes:

Jessica misses you dearly said...

I'm crying. Your words, how they get me so...
damn
like a little kid
sobbing my eyes sore.

There are so many wonderful things about you, really.

Zek J Evets said...

@jess: that means a lot to me for you to say so... sorry i make you cry though.

so many wonderful things about me, eh? well, i guess you'd know about wonderful things =)

give us a call sometime! i always forget, and can't be trusted with the burdens of communication, haha.

Just Marni. said...

Hi. First off I would like to validate everything you said. Your lyricism is very attractive and even though I don't know you, I feel like the pain you've gone through speaks right through the text. You are very romantic and very poetic.

(Ok, here it comes. Ready?)

But, I can't help but notice a hint of mockery(?) in some of the people you've been "studying". I have to admit that I haven't read all of your posts (and I really don't plan on doing that), but there definitely is a hint of privilege I'm detecting that you may or may not be aware of about yourself.

This is slightly directed at this post, but more so on some of the sample of your older posts. The hobo, for example, you've so eloquently described may or may not be sad. Hence he/she is your subject of romanticism.

Then, some of the women on your "list" that you've objectified for your own use, well, they can't talk back to you. They can't defend themselves from your criticisms and scrutiny.

Or even look at your "asian" posts. There's an exoticism you've created that just doesn't sit right with me. I admit that I am biased because I am "Asian". But please notice, in those texts the subject is unable to defend the exoticism/criticism/romanticism even that you've created... until now.

What I'm trying to get at is, I don't know if you are aware that there is a certain insensitivity to the subject's experience that comes across in these texts. Perhaps you've addressed this dilemma in your older posts?

I mean, I know that its your blog, so you can write whatever the fuck you want. AND I appreciate the fact that we can have a discourse about this matter because you've opened up the comment section...

But what do you think happens to the subject once you've said what you've said? How do you think the audience will perceive the subject after? I feel like there is definitely something lost in translation and I want to know.

This comment is by no means a "hater" post. I came across this blog and thought it was interesting. Then I started to feel upset which actually is a good thing for me because it challenges my own perspective.

I just want to know what you think about this subject-writer power relationship problem when you write. Obviously, I think your opinion matters, because why then would I write back, right?

Zek J Evets said...

@marni: haha, the "but" is always there, like a whisper, or hanging chad, ready to drop after the compliments have been delivered. it's no big deal - i'd rather have an interactive fan-club that challenges me than a bunch of hand-clappers and shoulder-patters.

the privilege you're detecting is the massive arrogance i have in thinking i know so much to be able to write like i do. it takes a lot of confidence to be able to write or talk about yourself and other people.

but, at the same time, i bash myself so much it's hard to justify feeling "privileged", and even harder to justify "objectifying" people when i turn my own life into the fuel for my art. i am as mocked as the people i write about, and i am as much an object as they are. it all goes to the writing.

i suppose the people i talk about would like to know that i'm writing/saying these things about them, but when they have found out (if you look around at some of the posts, this has happened) all they do is get mad, because they can't deny what i said... anymore than i can deny what you're saying.

which is interesting to hear, since most of my commentators don't post their objections up here, instead saving them for later in private.

(i'd like to note that i keep this comments section so open BECAUSE i want people to feel free to question my posts, ask me stuff, and challenge the answers i give. i like debate, and i like knowing my readers are engaged with my writing. also, if anyone who i write about ever wanted to come here and challenge my portrayal of them, they'd be free & fine to. i'm not hiding - this blog is linked from my FB, MS, business card and other places - but i'm also not advertising too much, haha.)

so, to address your question about how do i feel about the whole writer-subject power-relationship... well, i feel pretty okay with it.

in my work, nobody is perfect (just like life) and nobody gets a passage devoted to extolling their virtues in order to balance out the bad things i mentioned they did in one sentence before writing another five paragraphs about how much i suck. maybe that's just bad luck, but most of the time the people i write about AREN'T good people, or at least, they aren't completely good people. and maybe it's even more bad luck that i've often chosen to write about them/talk about them in situations that don't show them in the best light. sorry? i can't really feel bad for giving someone a bad rap, when in fact they did break my heart/cheat on me/get drunk/use drugs/hit someone/lie/act like an asshole/whatever. i write a version of the truth, but it is THE TRUTH, and these things really do/did happen. i especially can't feel all that bad about it when i do the same damn thing to myself all the time. if they are really reading me carefully, they'll realize you've gotta laugh at yourself as much as i laugh at myself. why so serious? says the joker.

that said, there are times when i truly and deeply write about/talk about the good in some people, and when i do, it can be so gushy you'd think i was their mother, haha. but it happens rarely. there aren't that many people i feel comfortable with or distanced from to write about so intimately as if i would a lover...

but overall i can tell what it is you're looking for. you wish the characters in my posts were more sympathetic, and that's something i'm working on. i'm trying to portray people in such a way as to capture the essence of the events without making everyone into an asshole that nobody would want to read about. i'm trying to learn my craft so well that i can write about what someone did while still sympathizing with why they did it.

it's a tricky balance, and i'm no circus act, haha, but i try.

thanks for the great comment! hope you keep coming back.

FunkyStarkitty50 said...

You have this gift for expressing sadness in a way that does not make me feel pity for you, but marvel at how strong you actually are. Although, I still fight back these urges to wrap you up in cotton wool and play "Mama Bear" which, I know you dislike intensely:-) I must try to remember that you are stronger than you look.